I got the vast majority of my necessities moved into my house today… which included clothes, a printer and an impressive array of sex toys. I had plans for all of these items until I began menstruating…. or shark week as I like to call it. That nixed me using two thirds of these items.

My grandma has been having mini strokes and if I would have known that I’d start unnecessarily bleeding I would have planned ahead and stolen some of her blood thinners then found a guy willing to fuck me while I was on the rag. Adding blood thinners probably would mean that I’d be on the towel.

Gross.

I stole a folding table from my mom to make a desk. But I’ve been in a mood and wanted to feel like a dictator so a $30 table for baby shower buffets wasn’t going to cut it. I used ten boxes, three pieces of shelving wood and some extra laminate flooring boards to make a giant U-shaped imperial regime desk. Assuming the regime was on section 8 because it looks super ghetto. But functional, like Ketchup in Mac ‘n Cheese.

Now I know how the other half live.

Literary reference! Now I feel like s snob. But in a good way. If I was more ambitious I’d quote Tolstoy to dumb people just so they know their place.

I wonder if he even has good quotes. They’re probably super manly about building log cabins and shit. I base this on the pictures I saw when I googled him to see how his name was spelled purely for usage in this blog.

Feigned knowledge gets you far in life. Assuming your definition of “far” is being the district manager of Target.

I love Target. Mostly because I am a suburban white woman who will pay extra for convenience. But not for cigarettes or flavored lubricant because Target is apparently a prude.

The two items are like peanut butter and jelly. Mostly because I like to do cocaine and fuck which results in me smoking while I’m sucking dick.

Some would are argue that the combination detracts each of them from the other but then I would argue that it’s hedonism at it’s best.

Until someone get’s burned in the ball sack.

Unless you’re into that.

I also sat and wrote my five new minutes for my residency at the Monday Night Comedy Show. It went better than I expected. Mostly because it was all about my cousin “slash” illegitimate soul mate passing away.

It’s a least a step up from when two months ago I just yelled at the audience “fuck you my friend is dead.” I was so mad that I was supposed to bringing the joy of laughter to people who were doing much better than me.

Even thinking about how unfair it is makes me want to throw a glass cup full to the brim against the wall. But that would be a waste of booze. I’m mourning so booze isn’t something I should be wasting.

Because remember, their called ‘coping skills’ not ‘coping integrities’.

After the show I made out with the guy I’ve had a crush on for years in the parking lot. Shit was pretty insane. Easily the best make-out session of my life despite that face that my chin now feels like I took a curling iron to that face.

I was so aggressive that my heals kept opening/closing the windows and (un)locking the doors.

I’ll remember that skill next time I choose not to use my arms. Because sometimes I like to pretend I paraplegic.

I’m empathetic to a fault.

Then I got home and wanted to get some work done. But it’s night time and ALL of the lamps in my house no longer work. On the upside that leaves me a bunch of extra light bulbs for smoking meth.

Although it’s super hard to put your drugs in the high energy ones. All the swirls make it like playing a high pressure game of pin ball.

Well, now I’m off to bed. And by that I mean I need to rub six to eight out because despite how much fun it is to make-out, I now feel like a cat in heat all rubbing up against the couch being unintelligibly vocal.

My dad’s medication for his bi-polar mania has him so loopy it’s like hanging out with an overly-ambitious heroin addict.

So, now I can’t sleep. I shall spend the night listening for his snores and possible thumps that may result in injury before I return to palm sanding my entry door.

Yes, I learned how to palm sand. Not that difficult. It’s like giving a back rub to a door with a dusty vibrator. Who am I kidding? I’ve never let a vibrator get dusty in my life!

Because I love pussy. Especially mine. Hey-Oh!

During most of my dad’s episodes he’s still dreaming when he gets up. If I was still full of childlike wonderment, as opposed to jaded frustration, I’d probably play along with him. But I refuse. If I won’t play along with a 2-year-old why the hell would I with a 53-year-old. I’m a bitch like that.

He was looking for snares before. If I didn’t love him so damn much and had such a hard time seeing him suffer I would have told him that they’re atop the chandelier and watched that fiasco take place.

Instead I snuggle with my puggle, listening. He licks my face profusely and I make kissing noises back. My mom thinks it’s gross. But I remind her that he’s the only one that will kiss me in the face without expecting me to put out.

However, the dog’s sense of humor is mediocre at best. He’s good at the silent, physical comedy but not much for witty banter. And the fact that I know that verifies how fricken pathetic I am.

I should get a bunch of purses and stop taking birth control because that’s evidently the direction my life is heading.

Good thing I hate men and can’t live with people. If not, the whole cat-lady thing would seem difficult.